


young lover, he has a pretty face when i kiss it

by mickthekid



Series: wasting my young years [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Abuse, Anal Sex, Angst, Bad Parenting, Fluff, It's a Shameless fic guys, M/M, Minor Character Death, Smut, Swearing, Ukrainian Mickey, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 16:47:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9771116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickthekid/pseuds/mickthekid
Summary: Ian Gallagher grins down at him, he’s got one tooth missing in the smile. “Thought you might wanna skate with me? Learn it and stuff. Your brother doesn’t look like a very good teacher,” he says.“Ha, no shit. And like I’m gonna let a little kid teach me shit. What are you, eight?” Mickey tries to sound offensive to get the kid out of his hair, but Gallagher doesn’t even flinch.“Ten! We can play hockey!” Ian exclaims excitedly. Mickey just stares at him incredulously. Why the fuck is this kid so eager to teach him all of a sudden? He’s fucking crazy.---Or Mickey's feelings about Valentine's Day throughout the years.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Late to the party with a Valentine's Day fic!  
> This story doesn't really follow canon at all, I mostly had season 1 in mind when I wrote this.

_1999_

Mickey is four years old when he learns about Valentine’s Day. He’s sitting on a raggedy, grey couch in his aunt’s living room with Mandy next to him. An old photo album is laid out across their legs and they’re pretending to look through it as their aunt Elena is talking from her armchair across the room. She’s talking in fast Ukrainian, Mickey doesn’t care enough to pay attention to every word coming out of her small, rotten mouth.

Mickey watches as his aunt lights up a new cigarette and takes a sip of her cheap beer – the same brand she has always drunk. Terry says it tastes like cat piss, but that’s what aunt Elena smells like all the time. She’s thirty years old but looks and acts like an old woman who’s been through some shit, and maybe she has. Of course she has, if the countless stories about guys who’ve screwed her over are anything to go by. Mickey almost feels sorry for her, but the victim complex she possesses makes it impossible. So, he always just listens and agrees to everything she has to say. It’s the easy way.

Next to him, Mickey can feel Mandy shifting. When he looks over, away from Elena, Mandy is biting her lip, an anxious habit, as she’s still trying to keep up the act of looking at all the photographs of long-dead relatives. Mickey wishes his mom would come pick them up already. They’ve been here all day, too many hours in this smoke-filled apartment. Being home alone and risking getting themselves killed out of pure stupidity sounds like a much better option to Mickey.

Aunt Elena blows smoke out of her nostrils as she crosses her legs, the movement makes her short skirt ride up. Mickey swallows thickly. “Today is Valentine’s Day. Do you know what this means?” Mickey and Mandy say nothing. “It means rich men are buying their wives expensive jewelry and fancy chocolate. Hearts, everything is covered in hearts and pink, pink hearts. Sickening. They say it’s to celebrate love.” She laughs. Even her laugh is ugly. “It’s all bullshit, kids. True love is a thing in books and movies, not in the real world. Here, people are going to leave you. You can’t stop them from leaving. They will always leave. So, I say to you: don’t get so close to people. It’s going to make you regret ever feeling good in the first place.

“You listen to me, Marynia. Men are shit. We should never give them the satisfaction of getting into our heads, or anywhere else. They just cheat you in the end,” Elena says, her voice cold and bitter. Even though she’s addressing Mandy, her blue eyes are stuck on Mickey’s small form. “And as for Mikhailo,” she continues, “I hope God will grant us a miracle and make you not turn out like every other man in this cursed fucking family.”

Elena stands up and takes the photo album from them. She takes it back into the old, wooden bookshelf with lazy movements. She’s a little bit drunk, Mickey thinks. She’s always a little bit drunk. That’s because she’s Terry’s sister.

\---

_2002_

February is a shitty month. Not only does it miss days for no good enough reason, it’s also still cold out and he can’t go anywhere without a hundred layers of his brothers’ old coats on. February is also the month of Valentine’s Day, which, whatever. Mickey wouldn’t care if it weren’t for the fact that everything is pink and disgusting for a few days. It feels like the only thing grey and normal is the inside of his own house. The only colorful thing in the Milkovich residence is the blood on their faces, whether it be on one of the men from getting into a bar fight or on Mickey’s mom from being slapped around by Terry. Julia is as pale as the rest of them, so the bruises and cuts stand out well. Mickey hates that. Sure, Terry throws punches at his children, too, but all Mickey ever sees is his mother’s bruised, bloodied face. He sees that face in his nightmares.

There’s a quiet knock on Mickey’s door before it opens slowly, revealing the small form of his little sister. Mickey sits up in his bed and throws the comic he’s been half-heartedly reading for the past hour aside. Mandy closes the door behind herself as she enters. She’s wearing a pair of shorts and a top, both as black as her hair. Mickey makes room on his bed for her to sit down.

“What’s up, Mandy?” he asks her. It’s a stupid question, Mickey’s aware of that, and he knows Mandy thinks that too.

She shrugs. “Mom forgot to buy smokes for dad. She said she was gonna go back to the store. I don’t think we’re getting dinner today.”

Mickey snorts humorlessly. “Today? Doesn’t really feel much different from any other day, does it?” It really, really doesn’t. It only sucks because their mom had promised dinner yesterday. She never promises anything. She can’t, really, because she’s married to Terry. Her children get that. “Don’t hold it against her, all right, Mandy?”

“I won’t,” she says. Her voice is so quiet. Mickey frowns at her.

“Hey. When dad passes out, we’ll get some money off him and go buy something good. Something way better than mom’s shitty cooking. All right?” Their mom’s an okay cook, but Mickey needs to see his little sister’s smile again.

Mandy rubs the back of her neck. “We gonna look for her?” she asks. She always asks that even though she knows the answer. She seems to realize that. “She’ll be home in the morning,” she answers herself. Mickey nods.

“Yeah, she’ll be home.”

\---

_2006_

It’s the first day of February, and Mickey’s at an ice rink with Iggy. His big brother said it’s about time he learned how to skate, in case he ever has to run from the cops on slippery ice. Mickey thinks it’s stupid and he doesn’t want to be here, but Iggy said he’d let him smoke with him in the evening if he complied. Sure, Mickey could get weed without Iggy’s stupid ass, but he kind of likes his brother’s company. Probably because Iggy is fifteen and has his own car (that he stole from some guy a year ago).

Mickey isn’t really looking forward to looking like a damsel in distress when he can’t stay upright once he’s got the skates on, and he’s regretting this pretty heavily already. He’s already told Iggy to go fuck himself twice when he’s tried to help Mickey with the laces. Once Mickey is done, they still feel too loose around his feet and ankles, but he’s not even thinking about telling Iggy that. The brothers get in the rink, Mickey trying to look as cool as possible while grasping Iggy’s forearm for dear life. He’s not going to fucking fall in front of his own brother. If he can shoot a gun, he can skate. It can’t be that hard.

His legs are shaking like leaves in the wind and he’s even breaking a sweat, but Iggy is wise enough not to say anything about it. As one would expect, Mickey falls halfway around the rink even though he’s got a strong grip on Iggy’s jacket, and he can’t get up without help. He wants to die, just to get out of this situation. “Man, can we go? This shit ain’t working out,” he says, aware of sounding like a whiny brat. But Iggy shakes his stupid head.

“We’re going around once, and then you’ll try not to fall on your own. It’s really not that fucking hard, if you just try,” he says. “Fucking baby,” he adds for good measure. Mickey would punch him in the face if his hands weren’t in the task of keeping him standing up next to his brother.

They skate around the rink, slowly and not very surely on Mickey’s part. Iggy tries to get Mickey to loosen his grip on his arm, reminding him that he’s already fallen four times, so it shouldn’t be too bad. Mickey thinks Iggy just wants to laugh at him at this point, so he says _fuck it_ and kicks off. He’s soon on his ass on the cold ground, Iggy snickering above him, and he demands they go home and smoke now.

As he’s taking off his offending skates, Mickey sees a shadow come in above his feet. He looks up and finds himself face-to-face with a redheaded, freckle-faced kid. Mickey squints his eyes at the kid for a second before looking back down at his aching feet. Everything hurts right now.

“Hey, I, um. I saw you skating up there,” the kid says. “It was pretty good.”

Mickey raises an eyebrow. “The fuck you want, Red?”

“Ian,” the kid says. “Name’s Ian. Gallagher. And you’re Mickey Milkovich.” Mickey frowns at his feet as if to ask them what he did to deserve this kind of torture.

“Yeah, Gallagher. The fuck you want?” Mickey knows the Gallaghers. Lip Gallagher was in the same grade as him in middle school before Mickey stopped going, annoying little fuckhead. And Frank Gallagher has always picked fights with Terry at the Alibi, sometimes he owes him money, sometimes just because. Mickey’s never given a shit about that family, he knows there are like a hundred kids crammed in that tiny house, and the mom is gone a lot. Mickey’s mom met her once at a school meeting – the only time she went to one, and it was for Mandy, anyway.

Ian Gallagher grins down at him, he’s got one tooth missing in the smile. “Thought you might wanna skate with me? Learn it and stuff. Your brother doesn’t look like a very good teacher,” he says.

“Ha, no shit. And like I’m gonna let a little kid teach me shit. What are you, eight?” Mickey tries to sound offensive to get the kid out of his hair, but Gallagher doesn’t even flinch.

“Ten! We can play hockey!” Ian exclaims excitedly. Mickey just stares at him incredulously. Why the fuck is this kid so eager to teach him all of a sudden? He’s fucking crazy. “Tomorrow at five. I’ll bring hot chocolate!” With that, Ian leaves a confused Mickey behind.

“What the fuck,” he says to himself when he takes off with Iggy.

“What the fuck,” he says when, instead of giving his skates to Iggy to store into a closet, he takes them to his room and places them next to his door.

“What the fuck,” he says the next day, when he’s on his way to the ice rink with a joint in his pocket and heart pounding a little bit faster than normal.

\---

_2009_

Mickey doesn’t usually treat Valentine’s day differently from any other day. He’s grown up in a household where parties are thrown only when someone, namely Terry, gets out of prison. So, he doesn’t really get what the point is in doing something special for Valentine’s.

Despite all that, here Mickey is, on a Saturday afternoon in a bathroom stall, getting fucked in the ass for the first time ever. On Valentine’s day. Right now, he can’t remember if he planned this or if it was just a weird accident, but he isn’t complaining, whichever it is. He doesn’t think the guy is particularly good, not that Mickey has anything to compare this to, but he’s getting the job done. He’s older, Mickey thinks he said he was nineteen, which, well. The guy looks younger, maybe sixteen. He’s got braces and a round, spotty face. That doesn’t matter since Mickey is facing the wall of the stall, and it wouldn’t matter anyway, really. He’s not here to kiss and snuggle.

“Christ, you’re so tight,” the guy says. Mickey grits his teeth and tells him to shut the fuck up. This isn’t a goddamn porno, he doesn’t have any reason to talk to him like he’s a fucking bitch. He’s not. He’s only just realized that, hey, having a dick up his ass is better than his skinny fingers. He’s not a slut. He’s not a _girl_.

The guy finishes and after pulling out he offers to blow Mickey.

“Nah, just, get the fuck outta here, Nicholas,” Mickey says, wrapping his hand around himself. He doesn’t turn to look at the guy, doesn’t want to. All he can hear is the sound of the condom being thrown into the trash and Nicholas zipping up his jeans. Mickey wants to punch him for taking longer than a second to get the fuck out of his face.

“It’s Tobias,” Nicholas corrects him. Mickey rolls his eyes.

“I don’t give a shit, get the fuck out!” He closes and locks the stall door after _Tobias_  has left and lets his forehead thump against the cool wall. He gasps against it as he brings himself off, not really feeling it anymore.

 _Valentine’s day is fucking bullshit_ , Mickey thinks as he leaves the bathrooms, filled with a hollow, not-quite-satisfied feeling in the pit of his stomach.

\---

_2011_

The first week of February has passed by in a blur. A blur of tears, screams, accusations, police sirens and punches. Mickey thinks this has been the worst week of his entire life, and that’s a lot coming from a kid of Terry’s. The shitty thing is, he’s fairly certain the only people who give a shit are him and Mandy, and maybe their uncle Joey, but he isn’t sure.

When Iggy had come in through the front door of the house, Mickey hadn’t looked up from the TV that was playing some god-awful movie about werewolves and vampires. Mickey thought the main vampire was oddly good-looking.

“Mom’s dead,” Iggy had said without any ceremony, just blurted it out like it was expected and normal – which it probably was, Mickey thinks afterward.

Mandy had run up to her big brother with a disbelieving look on her face, but Mickey just asked, “How?”

“Some guy found her by the river, they say she drowned.” Julia had been gone for two days at that point, which wasn’t a new occurrence. She did that, and they were all okay with it. Well, not _okay_ okay, but they understood her. She was married to Terry, she had to.

Today is the burial of Julia Milkovich. Mickey still finds it so surreal, that his mom is gone. She’s not going to be there to defend her kids anymore, to clean the wounds they get from picking a fight with some assholes down at the bar, to make edible dinner for all of them when Terry isn’t breathing down her neck. Mickey and Mandy both loved their mom, she was a good person. It wasn’t her fault she was dealt a shit hand when it came to Terry Milkovich. Mickey would never blame her for not being there as much as mothers probably should be, for not making dinner as regularly as other kids’ parents do. She did the best she could.

At the funeral, Mickey and Mandy are standing next to each other, Mandy occasionally brushing her hand against Mickey’s to keep herself grounded. She’s crying quietly, but Terry, who’s standing a few feet to their left, doesn’t look like he cares. He doesn’t care because Mandy is a girl, Mandy is allowed to cry.

There are only about ten people there, Julia’s immediate family and some of her relatives. Mickey’s grandmother came all the way from the Ukraine to attend the funeral. She’s only halfway into her sixties, looking fierce as ever, Mickey likes her. It’s a pity he doesn’t get to see her often.

When the coffin is in the ground and the priest is saying his final words, Mandy lets herself weep a little bit louder. Mickey gives her hand a comforting squeeze. Her hand shakes in his own.

Mickey doesn’t cry at the funeral. But when he gets home and has locked his door securely, he buries his face into his pillow and lets the tears he’s managed to keep at bay for four days fall.

Mickey hasn’t cried because he’s Terry’s son before. Today he lets himself make an exception.

\--

_2012_

When Mickey comes home from the football game he snuck into with Gallagher in hopes of avoiding any lovey-dovey couples, he realizes that luck really is never on his side. Coming through the doorway, he spots Mandy sitting on the couch with a guy Mickey’s never seen before. Well, they’re not sitting as much as they’re sucking face. Mickey sneers at them, followed by a gagging sound. “Can you please keep that shit in the bedroom, skank?” he groans, not staying to wait for the answering “fuck you” Mandy certainly throws his way.

Once in the safety of his own room, Mickey throws his worn-out coat onto the small couch he has pushed against one of his poster-covered walls. With an audible groan, he flops onto his bed. He thinks for a moment before getting his old-ass flip phone out of his jeans’ pocket and dialing a number.

“ _Hello?_ ” Ian Gallagher’s annoying voice comes through. It makes Mickey smile like an asshole. He realizes calling Ian when he just saw him twenty minutes ago is very fucking weird and girly, but it’s too late now.

“Ay, Gallagher,” he says. He can almost see the recognition on the guy’s face.

“ _Mickey_ ,” Gallagher says. “ _Uh, what’s up? You know we talked a half an hour ago, right?_ ”

“Yeah, man, I fucking know. Not suffering from fucking Alzheimer’s yet, asshole,” Mickey answers with enough bite to make Gallagher laugh. Mickey smirks, pleased despite himself. “Mandy’s fucking someone on our couch, man. I feel pretty locked up in here.”

Gallagher laughs more. “ _She’s getting that Valentine’s day dick! Who’s the dude?_ ”

Mickey shrugs. “Fuck knows, chances are that even she doesn’t know,” he jokes. Ian fakes an offended gasp.

“ _Do not talk about my best friend like that!_ ” he cries. “ _Like you’re any better!_ ”

“Yeah, well, you got a point there,” Mickey admits. “Who’re you again, man? Graham? Daniel?”

“ _Asshole_ ,” Ian says. Mickey hums.

“Yeah, right, Asshole. You free tomorrow after, say, four? I got some weed, we could go somewhere,” he proposes. He hears Ian moving around in his house, probably checking the family calendar in the kitchen. What a busy fucking man.

“ _Yeah, should be free. I’ll be babysitting Liam for a few hours, so I might be a bit late, just a heads-up_ ,” Ian tells him. He sounds tired just talking about it, Mickey almost feels bad for him.

“All right, man. I’ll bring some booze, too,” he says, already looking forward to getting high and fucking with Gallagher.

“ _I got school the next day, Mick, can’t get wasted. I think I have a math test or something_ ,” Ian says. Some of them are still bothering with school. Mickey can respect that.

“Okay, so you’ll only drink a little, s’cool.”

Ian sounds like he’s smiling on the other end. “ _Yeah, s’cool_.”

They hang up after that, and Mickey thinks he’s entered a whole new level of absolute gayness.

\-----

_2015_

Mickey wakes up to something wet and warm pressing against his bare shoulder. His breath hitches a little and he groans due to the wake up – the sun isn’t even up yet; the room is filled with darkness. He doesn’t move as a pair of strong arms sneak themselves around his waist, having dislocated at some point during the night.

“It’s Valentine’s Day,” Ian mutters against his shoulder blade. Mickey hums in acknowledgment.

“Yeah? What’s that to me? It’s way too early to be awake, man,” he says, but he’s already got one hand covering Ian’s slightly larger one. Ian’s grin is toothy and wide as he presses it against the side of Mickey’s neck, nibbling and kissing his sensitive skin.

“Means I’m gonna go all romantic on your grumpy ass,” he says in a laugh. He presses his hips flush against Mickey. “Was thinking of starting right here,” he adds, Mickey hears the smirk in his voice.

“If this is your idea of romantic, I ain’t complainin’. But fuck right off if you’re gon—oh _fuck_ ,” Mickey cuts himself off when Ian’s got a firm hand wrapped around his dick. His eyes roll back briefly and he tries to scoot back against Ian’s body, but he soon realizes this is as close as they can get. Ian’s chuckle next to his ear would earn him a punch in the stomach if it weren’t for the hand working him to full hardness expertly and quickly.

“You were saying?” Ian teases, twists his wrist a little and squeezes the base of Mickey’s cock. Mickey feels Ian’s own dick pressing against his bare ass, practically begging for some attention. But Ian seems determined in his task of making him beg for it. And _fuck_ , is it working.

Mickey shudders, wishing Ian would continue with his hand. “If I see any cheesy-ass roses or fucking hearts, I’m gonna rip – shit, _shit_ – your goddamn balls off,” he manages to choke out the empty threat.

Instead of answering, Ian reaches into the nightstand and pulls out a bottle of lube, to Mickey’s misfortune abandoning his dick, and pours a generous amount on his fingers before he reaches down and pushes two fingers into his boyfriend’s waiting body. Mickey’s breath hitches and he bears down immediately. They fucked just last night before going to sleep, but it still feels so new to Mickey. He’s been getting fucked for years, and he doesn’t seem to get used to just how good it always is. How good it always is with Ian. “ _Fuck_ ,” he says again, the curse sounding choked and filled with desperation.

“Yeah, getting there, Mick,” Ian tells him, a tease, a promise. He adds a third finger which makes Mickey hiss shortly, the stretch starting to feel. Mickey waits for a moment as Ian scissors his fingers and moves them, occasionally brushing against his prostate, dragging a pleased sigh out of him.

Ian decides it’s time to get the show on the road when Mickey starts making desperate sounds, sounds that Ian would call whining but that Mickey would deny ever making altogether. He pulls out his fingers and pours some more lube into his palm, wraps it around his dick and jerks it a couple of times. The moan he lets out at the much-awaited contact makes Mickey roll over onto his back and pull Ian on top of him. He spreads his legs open for Ian to tuck himself in and slide into his warm body. Mickey chokes out a quiet ‘ _shit_ ’ when Ian bottoms out. Ian catches Mickey’s lips in a kiss as he experimentally pulls almost all the way out before pushing back in again. Mickey’s legs wrap around his slim waist, heels pressed against his lower back to help guide Ian’s movements.

“Oh, _fuck_ , Ian,” Mickey breathes out once Ian finds his prostate. A pleased grunt falls out of Ian’s gaping mouth.

“Right here?” he asks even though he knows the answer. Mickey nods rapidly, moaning out curses mixed in with Ian’s name as he lifts his hips to match his boyfriend’s thrusts.

“ _Fuck me_ , Ian, go harder,” he tells him. Ian complies immediately. Mickey’s hands are all over the place, sometimes pulling at the sheets of the bed, sometimes wandering around Ian’s body, sometimes in the ridiculously red hair of the guy of his goddamn dreams. He would never call Ian that to his face, it would fuck up his ego and boost Ian’s up like a fucking rocket ship. But that’s what Ian is to Mickey. Someone who he didn’t think he’d ever get to be with, but who somehow chose him anyway. It’s a fucking mystery to Mickey, but he doesn’t think he wants to solve that one.

Ian presses kisses across Mickey’s face, going down to his neck and sucking. Mickey curses faintly at him, but doesn’t bother swatting him away. He can complain to him later. Instead, Mickey brings both of his hands up to the back of Ian’s head and presses him against his skin, allowing him to kiss over his neck and collarbones and then back to his lips again.

“Imma come,” Ian says against his lips, hips picking up pace even more, something Mickey didn’t think was possible. Ian wraps a hand around Mickey’s own leaking cock and moves his wrist in time with his thrusts, moans and curses being muffled by Mickey’s swollen lips.

Mickey urges him on. “Yeah, me too. Come on, just a second more, Ian,” he says. He lets Ian press his hips against him a little harder, raises his own hips a little bit and gasps as he comes all over Ian’s hand and both of their stomachs. Ian isn’t far behind, riding out his own orgasm and finishing with a couple of weak, stuttering thrusts. They’re both a panting mess when Ian collapses on top of Mickey. Mickey strokes through his red mop of hair with his hand, a soothing motion as Ian catches his breath. “I fucking love you,” Mickey tells him, his voice sincere and slightly weak from exhaustion. Ian raises his head from Mickey’s neck.

“I fucking love you too, you big sap,” he says with a happy laugh. They share another lazy kiss as Ian pulls out and tucks himself in between Mickey’s legs.

“Don’t fucking call me a sap when we both know who the fucking cheeseball is in this relationship, douchebag,” Mickey snorts at him. He wraps his legs loosely around Ian’s hips again and his arms around his shoulders in a hug.

“Yeah, whatever you say. I’m still gonna romance the shit outta you, just so you know,” Ian mumbles into his neck.

“Yeah? If it’s gonna involve a lot of sex, I think I’ll be okay.”

“Of-fucking-course,” Ian giggles with a final kiss placed under Mickey’s ear before he falls back into sleep.

Mickey drops a kiss into Ian’s hair and smiles happily. Valentine’s Day might be shit for a lot of reasons, but this will definitely get on the list of things that don’t suck that badly about it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for suffering through that, especially the sex scene. I still need to figure out how to write those (and other things, too, really). Let me know your thoughts!


End file.
